


I Don’t Have To Make The Choice

by Unosarta



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: Biphobia, Bisexuality, Coming Out, F/M, Fluff, M/M, New Avengers (2005), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unosarta/pseuds/Unosarta
Summary: Steve accidentally invites Tasha to New York Pride. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	I Don’t Have To Make The Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Set ambiguously during New Avengers (2005), though probably before #10 when Sentry joins, and _definitely_ before SHRA is being thought about.

Steve and Tasha are sitting on the couch - on what Steve likes to think of as _their_ couch - watching the evening news companionably.

It’s a totally fine, totally normal time. Steve’s not thinking too much about Tasha, sitting next to him, breathing a laugh through her nose and meeting his gaze to roll her eyes at the particularly egregious advertisements.

He’s not thinking too much about the careful space between their legs, what it would feel like if they were just a few inches closer and their thighs were touching. He’s definitely not thinking about her hands, fiddling with her phone on her lap.

He’s not thinking about how strong her hands are. How rough and calloused they must be. How nice they would be to hold, or kiss, or to feel on his body.

He hears her laugh, distantly, and it’s a moment before he comes back to his body and realizes she must have made a joke.

She looks curiously at him. He tries so hard not to think about her smile, her hair, her eyelashes, the curve of her cheekbones, or the elegant hairs of her eyebrows. He forces himself to stop comparing her eyebrows - denser, darker, than any other woman’s he’s seen - to Jan’s, so that he can hear what she asks.

“You okay there, Cap?” She’s looking at him with an amused expression on her face.

He tries not to blush. “Yeah, sorry, just tired after today’s fight.” The lie rolls easily off of his tongue; he should be ashamed at the ease, but he’s too busy carefully controlling his thoughts.

“Oh, fuck me, don’t even get me _started_ ,” Tasha groans, throwing her head back against the couch, exposing the line of her neck. “If I see one more hair on Kang’s head I’m going to burn him a new asshole with my repulsors.” Steve keeps his eyes resolutely on Tasha’s face, refusing to let them fall down to her neck or even further to the curve of her breast.

_Christ, keep it together_ , he tells himself. Steve’s always had a very Tasha shaped problem in his head, he knows that, but they’re in one of the fleeting periods in their long friendship where neither of them is single, and Steve’s trying duly not to let that knowledge get to his head.

_She’s not into you, Rogers_ , he tells himself sternly. _You would just make everything weird with your best friend_. He really doesn’t want to make it weird.

He casts his eyes about the room, trying to look anywhere but Tasha’s body, and his gaze alights on the television, the announcer currently talking about some parade.

He gestures to the screen. “You heard about this?”

“Uh, yeah Steve, pretty sure everyone’s heard of pride,” Tasha says, the corner of her mouth curving up into a grin.

Steve blushes, but he’s not sure if it’s at his mistake or at the way his body reacts to Tasha’s mouth. “I, just uh, I just meant - are you, uh, planning on,” he manages to get out, before Tasha interrupts him.

“Are you asking to go to pride with me, Steve? Why would you want to go?” She’s looking at him dubiously, failing to keep the smile off of her face.

“What - wait, why wouldn’t I want to go?” Steve asks, confused.

“Uh, you’re straight, for one,” Tasha says, like Steve has forgotten his own name.

“What? No I’m not.”

Now Tasha is the one who looks off balance. “But - I mean, you’ve only ever dated women…”

“Listen, just because every man or woman I date isn’t plastered all over the press, doesn’t mean -“

Tasha rolls her eyes at his insinuation, but then pauses consideringly. “Does that mean you dated a man in secret without telling me? You sly dog, Cap, I thought you trusted me with that kind of stuff.”

Steve’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “I mean no, that’s not -“

Tasha can tell he’s on tenterhooks and goes for the kill. “Either you kept a secret boyfriend from me, or you never dated anyone and can’t blame me for assuming.”

Steve hangs his head. “It was before we met,” he says, a little defeated. “Back during the war.” Tasha winces, starts to apologize, but Steve interrupts her. “It wasn’t really dating, we didn’t have the time - or the privacy - but there was someone…”

“Tell me about him?” Tasha asks, gently, and now Steve’s really regretting this.

“I mean, uh, you already know him?” He says, his voice rising on the last word, refusing to embarrass himself any further by saying the name.

“Steve, please don’t tell me you fucked Bucky, because he was a _child_ ,” Tasha says, reproachfully, and now Steve has his head in his hands.

He mutters the name under his breath, too low for her to hear, and she makes a noise like she wants him to repeat it. “Namor,” he repeats, louder, head still in his hands.

“ _Namor?_ ” Tasha shrieks, cackling and punching Steve in the shoulder. “You fucked _Namor?_ Oh my god, Steve, I didn’t know your taste in men was on the ‘racist, genocidal’ side.”

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you,” Steve says miserably. “He wasn’t so… bad? Evil? Back when I knew him. He was… I mean, he was a jerk, don’t get me wrong, but…”

Tasha gets her laughter under control, sides still heaving, and pats Steve gently on the shoulder. “Hey, it can't be worse than the time I dated Doom.”

“You dated _Victor von Doom?_ ” And now Steve is the incredulous one.

“Listen, I was young and he was hot.” Tasha tilts her head to the side and purses her lips. “Secrecy pact?” She offers him.

Steve, mortified at the thought of Peter finding out about him and Namor, nods immediately and over eagerly. “Secrecy pact.”

Tasha nods decisively. “Well, it’s settled then. Yes, I will take you to your first pride, so long as no one finds out about our youthful dalliances.”

Steve nods gratefully and they watch a movie for the rest of night in companionable silence.

* * *

Of course, it’s only later when he’s laying in bed that Steve sees the enormity of what he’s done. Going to pride with Tasha could almost be a date. Except that it isn’t, because maybe she thinks he’s gay?

And he’s not gay, not that that would be a problem. He’s attracted to plenty of women - some of them strong, dark haired engineers with wicked mouths - and presumably some people who are neither.

But now he’s worried that he might come across as gay to her. He knows there’s a word for this, for what he is, but it’s never been a problem and he’s never tried to look it up. He thinks, idly, that considering the number of partners Tasha has had of various genders, she must be too. Like him.

He… he knows there’s a sex tape. She’s in bed with a very famous married couple, Hollywood actors. He knows it exists. He can’t say he hasn’t thought about it, hasn’t wanted to see it, but that feels so wrong and invasive. If Tasha wanted him to see her naked, she would take off her clothes with him.

And she hasn’t, had she? She’s never shown him anything that would make him think she was interested. And who can blame her, she’s gorgeous, rich, smart, amazing. And he’s. Well. The equation doesn’t balance out.

Steve covers his face with one hand. He needs to stop thinking about this. They have a team meeting tomorrow. He’s going to have to look Tasha in the eye, as a teammate, and not say anything embarrassing.

Anything _else_ embarrassing.

* * *

The summer heat is sweltering. Steve regrets not bringing a water bottle to the parade. He meets Tasha outside of the tower in the morning and she’s got a baseball cap on her head and a backpack slung over her shoulders. He thinks her outfit reminds him remarkably of what she would wear in the workshop - a tank top and a pair of shorts - and it’s infuriatingly hot. Her thighs are fully on display, flexing powerfully as she bounces on her heels, and she looks more like a normal person than a high power businesswoman.

Something about the anonymity curls in Steve’s chest. Like only he gets to know that this is Natasha Stark, billionaire, founding Avenger, and engineering genius. Like he’s special.

_Not_ , he thinks, _that I am special_. At least not in the way that he’d like to be. Special to her.

She grins at him under the hat and leads him off to Madison Square Park, assuring him that it’ll be the best seats to watch from. Unfortunately, by the time they get there all of the spots in the shade are taken. They stand across the street from the park and Steve thinks ruefully about the hot concrete and the comfort of his butt.

When he looks at Tasha, she’s grabbing something out of her backpack. Two somethings. She tosses one to him and then snaps hers open and unfurls it. She sits down in her camping chair and gestures next to her at Steve. He looks at his chair, a little helplessly, and then holds it out to her.

“Oh my god, winghead, you look like you dropped your ice cream cone on the ground. Come on, I’ll get it open for you.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she undoes the straps and sets it down next to her. He probably could have opened it himself if he wanted to spend an embarrassing minute figuring out the straps, but this was faster. And nicer.

Steve sits and Tasha hands him a bottle. “Oh, so we’re celebrating national ‘give stuff to Steve day’?” He asks, smirking, and Tasha hits him lightly on the shoulder.

“It’s sunscreen. For your poor pale skin.”

Steve tilts his head. “Can’t get sunburned. Serum.”

Tasha shrugs, taking back the bottle, and begins to lather sunscreen on her legs. Steve swallows thickly as he watches her hands glide over her golden skin, enraptured by her various scars and burns.

After she’s done, they comment on hot passersby surreptitiously to each other until the parade begins.

* * *

It turns out they have very different taste. Tasha goes for the tall, muscular men. She seems to have a thing for blondes - it makes sense, she dated Tiberius Stone for a while - but she’s not very picky about women.

Steve, on the other hand, is into women who look like they might fight him - which is a fair few at the parade, he’s happy to realize. He doesn’t realize until Tasha mentions it that he likes women with darker hair and tanned skin. He hopes desperately that she doesn’t examine that too closely.

His taste in men is more flexible - he likes dark hair generally, but he doesn’t care much about build or height.

Tasha’s hat is doing wonders in keeping curious interlopers off of her, but Steve’s a little anxious.

“What if someone recognizes me,” he asks Tasha.

“So what if they do? It’s not a problem if Captain America goes to a pride parade.”

“But I don’t want to be here as Captain America, I want to be here as Steve Rogers,” he says, knowing it must sound pretty stupid.

Tasha just nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense,” she says, before brightening quickly. “Oh, I know.”

Before Steve can react, she’s pulling his shirt over his head. He yelps, not expecting his fantasies to become reality so swiftly or so publicly. When she stops there, he feels a little disappointed, and then confused.

“Wait, what? Why would taking off my shirt help?” Steve asks.

Tasha grins at him. “No one is going to pay attention to your face when you’ve got a body like that - hey, don’t look at me like that Steve, we all know you have a nice face, I just mean that no one would expect Captain America to be shirtless at a pride parade. No one is going to bat an eye at another hot, muscled boy at a pride parade. The place is practically dripping with them.”

She gestures at various half-naked men walking about and Steve has to acknowledge her point. It doesn’t help that her words keep echoing through his head, _we all know you have a nice face_. Does that mean she thinks his face is nice? Or, is she stating the neutral fact that he has a nice face?

The parade begins moving before his thoughts can get any more overwhelmed.

* * *

Removing the shirt is a blessing in disguise. It is _hot_ out; without anything to shade him, Steve’s shirt would have been soaked with sweat if he left it on. At least this way he gets appreciative looks too.

And the looks are nice, certainly, but Tasha doesn’t give his body a second glance after she takes off his shirt, just chatting animatedly with him about the floats in the parade.

It’s never stung before, but he’s also never had his body ogled this much either. His relationship to his post-serum self is, if anything, perfunctory. It does the job he needs it to, and he’s grateful that he isn’t on the edge of collapse like he was before the serum, but he’s never really felt amazing about it.

Even now, almost a decade after the transformation, it still kind of feels like he’s riding around in someone else’s body. When people check him out - and he knows they do, he’s not stupid - it’s not very validating. So it shouldn’t matter that Tasha’s not paying attention to him like that, right? It shouldn’t matter to him at all.

Tasha interrupts his thoughts with an elbow on his arm and a bitter laugh. She’s pointing to one of the floats. “Can you fucking believe it, Oscorp with a float in New York Pride? As if everyone in the world doesn’t know how much of a homophobic creep Norman Osborn is.”

“They do?”

“I thought you would have heard about it on the news. Osborn has a class action lawsuit against him right now. A dozen employees came forward about how he created a hostile work environment.” When Steve blinks at her, confusion clear on his face, she clarifies quickly. “It means he made them feel bad for being queer at his company.”

Oh. Steve understands that. This time, the heat on his cheeks is anger and not embarrassment or arousal. “Are they gonna get him?”

Tasha smiles conspiratorially and leans forward. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I may be helping the victims pay the legal bills. Can’t punch him in the face myself, so this is the next best thing.”

Steve smiles back and makes a zipping motion across his mouth that has Tasha laughing.

When she looks past him and grabs his arm, then, he doesn’t realize immediately that she’s trying to get his attention, too spaced out thinking about her laugh. He loves her laugh.

“Steve! Steve! Oh my god,” she says excitedly. He turns to where she’s looking.

The man she is staring at is wearing can only be described as what Captain America stripperwear.

The red boots don’t have the floppy brim, but are instead calf-high and sequined; the pants are now booty shorts, AMERICA written across the man’s cheeks; and the shirt, still emblazoned with the star and stripes, is a high cut, short sleeved crop top, with the cowl pulled back.

Steve chokes on nothing and feels his humiliation spread across his face. Tasha is bent over with laughter, her whole body shaking, and he sputters wordlessly at her.

Rather than let Steve die in peace like he so desires, Tasha _waves_ at the man and gestures him over. Steve has his head in his hands before close inspection can reveal who he is.

“Oh my _god_ , gorgeous, I love the outfit. Did you make that yourself?” She says, her voice clearly full of delight.

The other man laughs, deeper than Steve was expecting and not unpleasant, and says, “no, they actually sell these things online! Can you believe it?”

Tasha’s voice somehow rises even higher, “ _Steve_ , there is no way I’m not getting you one.” He looks at her and she’s beaming at him. He’s glad she’s enjoying it while he melts onto the concrete in shame, at least. She turns back to the man. “So, where did you get it? If I were, say, also interested in buying one?”

The stranger - who Steve notes is not unattractive, with short brown hair and an easy smile - pulls out his phone from somewhere that Steve doesn’t want to think about and asks for Tasha’s number. Steve is sure that she shouldn’t be giving her number out to random strangers, but she rattles it off without hesitating.

He says he’ll send her a link when he gets home and Tasha does a little fist pump, the kind she always does when she wins and she’s not self conscious about it. Usually when she’s playing Smash with Peter and Luke.

Steve feels a little bit jealous; that she’s so easily joking with this strange man, that this strange man might be flirting with her - not that Steve has any right to be bothered by who Tasha flirts with or anything. After the stranger keeps walking down the sidewalk, she turns back to him, her grin more salacious than Steve is expecting.

“So, he was _cute_ …” she says, and Steve covers his face with his shirt.

“Oh my god, Tasha, no.”

“Why not?” She asks, indignant for the stranger’s sake. “Slutty Cap holds no candle to the real deal, of course, but he seems right up your proverbial alley.”

“But I mean - he’s not - not with _me_ ,” Steve manages to say through the shirt in his hands. When he looks up at her, Tasha looks extremely nonplussed.

“What the hell do you mean, _not with you_. Who wouldn’t want to date you?” Steve can think of one person, sitting right next to him, but he doesn’t mention it. “Steve, I don’t know if you have eyes or anything, but you are like, the picture of physical perfection. I bet if you asked any man on this street, he’d love to climb you like a tree.”

Steve wants to put his face back in the shirt, wants to curl up into a ball and slowly shrink until his body has vanished from the earth, wants to melt into the gutter and become one with the sewage system of New York.

Tasha continues. “Seriously, Steve, you’ve got the full package. Looks, personality, and some interesting hobbies.”

“I can’t exactly tell him about the team, Tasha.”

“No, sorry, I meant your art and stuff.” She shrugs. “I’d say you’re pretty damn good.”

“But, I don’t really, I mean, I can’t really see myself with someone that I can’t tell about. You know. Everything I do?”

Steve looks down at his hands. Captain America may be the picture of bravery, but Steve Rogers can be a real coward sometimes.

“Maybe you’ll get to know him and find that you can tell him about that stuff,” Tasha suggests, hideously reasonable. “But either way, it can just be a fun thing to try. It doesn’t have to be very serious. You can see how it goes.”

Steve shrugs, still glaring at his hands. “I mean, I guess if he’s interested…”

He can feel Tasha’s smile on his cheek without even looking at her, like a sunbeam. “Awesome.”

They turn back to the parade and Steve’s thoughts are a hundred miles away.

* * *

Once the corporate floats of the parade are past, Tasha stops complaining under her breath and starts cheering for local organizations and communities. She breathlessly explains them to Steve, mentioning specific people she’s met who are marching, and Steve marvels at her.

He had no idea she cared this much. He finds himself wishing that maybe he could be a part of this. Not, for once, because he wants to be closer to Tasha or anything, but because he’s never had anything like this. The closest thing he can think of is the superhero community, but the queer community in New York seems so much bigger, so much warmer, and less on the brink of imminent disaster.

He’s never been a part of a community that isn’t at war, or biding it’s time between wars. He worries at his lip, thinking about how much his life has been fighting - always the good fight - and how little time he’s spent trying to live in the peace between.

Helping people is important, it is, and he’s got no illusions about where he is useful. He was built for the battlefield. It just seems so sad, like this is something he can’t really have.

He doesn’t notice Tasha has stopped talking until she’s pinching his shoulder. “Get out of your head, Steve. Pride is about celebrating that we’re alive, together. It can be as simple as that.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can take the time to live in the peace between. He smiles at her gratefully and she grins back.

When she sees the next float, she jolts to her feet and gasps. “Oh! It’s the bi section!” She’s jumping up and down and waving frantically and he can see some of the people holding the banner and walking down the street waving back.

“The bi section?”

“They’re - oh my god there’s Ace, their new hair look so cute - I don’t know, they’re like - the parade has sections for different identities, like the lesbian and gay men’s sections,” she points ahead of where they’re sitting and Steve sees a gaggle of men waving rainbow flags, some young some old. “And this is the bi section! They’re just regular bi people, celebrating their bi-ness.”

Tasha grins widely and shows Steve her bag, pointing at a pin. It’s got the same color scheme as the banner the bi group is holding, the same as the flag they’re waving around.

“It’s the bi flag. When you wear it it shows everyone ‘hey, I’m bisexual, fuck you!’” She says the last words giddily, like they’re a greeting and not an insult.

Steve hadn’t put it together (in his defense, he always feels extra slow when he’s by Tasha, unable to focus on anything) until that moment. These people are like Tasha - like him - and they like men and women. His smile is small at first, a little fragile, but it grows as he looks at them.

Like him. People who know what it’s like. He sees some men in the crowd, and he feels something wild, something magical and strange in his chest. It’s something like recognition, something like memory, and something like tenderness.

_Like me_ , he thinks, his smile fit to split his face. He wonders if they worried about it too, whether they were wrong for their desires. Whether they were confused, or uncertain. Did they doubt it was real?

But it isn’t wrong, it isn’t uncertain, and it _is_ real. _Like me_ , he thinks, and he understands why Tasha is so giddy when she looks at them. He wants to get up on his feet and wave his arms and scream and shout. He wants them to see him, to know him like he knows them, to recognize things in him that he doesn’t always trust to be true.

He wants to hold them and assure them that he is there for them. He thinks about his younger self, certain of the war but uncertain about anything else. He imagines gripping himself by the shoulders, looking himself in the eyes, and saying, as certain as he has ever felt, “you don’t have to be afraid of what you’re feeling. You can trust yourself - you’re real, you’re here, and you have people who care for you.”

He imagines hearing those words, he imagines these people saying those words to him, knowing that they understand him, knowing that they’ve been in his shoes.

Steve doesn’t know when he started standing, and he doesn’t know when hot tears began falling down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. He’s whooping and clapping and he doesn’t care. He wants them to see him, to see themselves in him, to know who he is.

It’s not until they’re gone down the street, and his voice feels a little hoarse, that he notices Tasha looking at him, an unrecognizable gentleness in her eyes. She pats his arm and sits down. Steve follows suit, his body overwhelmed by the feelings riding through it.

* * *

Tasha gives him the pin from her backpack while they’re walking home.

“Please, take it,” she says when he protests, pushing it into his hands, closing his fingers around it. “I have like twenty of the things and I can always order more.”

Steve takes it reverently and pins it to his shirt, like a badge. Like he’s certified now. He shows it proudly to Tasha and she laughs. Her laugh keeps him warm all the way back to the tower.

When he goes to bed that night, he takes off the pin and lays it on his nightstand. It’s a little silly, but he doesn’t want to part with it. A reminder of him, a gift from Tasha, and an acknowledgment that she saw him, like he had wanted to be seen. She understood him.

It is a terrifying rush, to be known like this, but Steve wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

When they get an Avengers alert the next morning - and Steve feels a rush of relief knowing he and Tasha didn’t get called in the day before - he doesn’t hesitate before attaching the pin to the leather of his shirt.

When the battle is done and the pin is miraculously unharmed, Steve feels a little foolish, considering it could have been damaged or lost. Maybe it makes more sense that Tasha has twenty of them laying around.

It’s not until he gets home, showers, and slumps down on the couch - the pin still attached to his shirt - next to Tasha that he realizes that the reporters hanging around after probably saw him.

She tilts the screen of her tablet so he can see the headline “Is Captain America A Queer Icon?” before reading some choice snippets of speculation on his sexual history.

Tasha took all of the embarrassment he had left to give yesterday, it seems, because Steve just shrugs at her. “I don’t think Namor is going to say anything.”

“Say anything about what,” asks Peter, swinging into the room, and maybe Steve does have some shame left because he can feel his eyes widen.

He makes eye contact with Tasha, who is holding back laughter, and shakes his head. She nods, mouths ‘the pact’ and then says to Peter, “anything about the message we sent him in Atlantis the other day. It had some sensitive info.”

When Peter shrugs and heads to the kitchen, Tasha looks at Steve a little concerned. “Are you okay with this?”

“I’m - I’m not sure. I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter. What’s done is done.” He tries to shrug nonchalantly, but it’s stuttered.

She pats his shoulder, and leaves her hand there. The touch is a comfort. “Hey, that was a very brave thing that you did.”

Steve shakes his head and smiles ruefully. “I honestly didn’t even think about it. It just felt right, you know?”

She nods. “Yeah. Being able to do something like that, recognize that it feels right and that you want to do it? That is a powerful thing.”

Steve looks away, so she doesn’t see the intensity of his eyes. After a few seconds, he hears a tapping sound on the tablet and then she’s shoving it into his hands.

He looks at her and she nods at the tablet. It’s open to Twitter, and as he scrolls through, he sees that every post says a similar thing.

> _I’ve never told anyone before, but I’m #bilikecap_
> 
> _omfg I always knew #bilikecap_
> 
> 😭😭 _#bilikecap_

And each post has an image attached, a picture of a person - Steve thinks probably the poster themselves - with a bi flag pin on their shirt in the same spot where his is. He touches his own with his fingers, like a salute, like a reflex, like a reminder that it’s still there.

“I didn’t think - I had no idea -” Steve starts to say.

And then one image catches his eye - he recognizes the face, would know it anywhere - and Tasha Stark is standing in the kitchen, wearing the little pin, and smiling into a camera.

The caption says: “out and proud for 15 years #bilikecap”

His chest is moving rapidly, the air he’s sucking through his nose coming in and out in gusts, his stomach muscles clench to keep him from falling over and sobbing on the ground.

Tasha is there, hand on his shoulder, voice comforting in his ear. “There are so many people this means so much to, Steve. People you’ve really helped, just by being yourself. Just by doing the thing that felt right.”

The tears are streaming down his face again, just like yesterday. She continues, “there are kids who are going to see this and think ‘maybe that’s what I am.’ They’ll see you and think ‘maybe that’s not such a bad thing.’”

Like me, he remembers thinking yesterday. It echoes back as he scrolls through the pictures, his vision hot and blurred.

He looks at Tasha, and he can’t really see her face, but he thinks she knows what he’s asking when she opens up her arms and lets him hug her tight. She always gives really nice hugs.

When he’s done, when the tears have stopped, when he feels calmer - not calm, still shuddering and aching - he pulls away and stammers an apology. She smiles and shakes her head.

“Go get something to drink. Take a nap. You’ve earned some rest.”

He follows her orders, whispering thanks like a prayer.

* * *

It takes a week for the news to calm down about his sexuality, but Steve still feels giddy. He keeps his pin on when he goes out as Captain America and it feels like protection. Like a charm keeping him safe.

“So,” says Tasha, slinking over to their couch where Steve is watching daytime soaps, a sly look on her face. “I’ve been texting Slutty Cap.”

Steve winces. Is this how Tasha is going to tell him she’s in a relationship? That seems inordinately cruel, even if she doesn’t know how he feels about her. “Do you have to call him that?” Steve asks.

“Not anymore,” Tasha says, grinning triumphantly. “His name is Pete. He’s a computer programmer at some tech startup, he’s 28, he has a dog, and he’s very interested in you.”

Steve groans, filled with dawning realization. “Tasha, why are you trying to set me up with a stranger?”

“Hey, listen, it’s like we talked about at pride. It doesn’t have to be anything serious, it can just be a fun thing to try out. See what he’s like, maybe you’ll hit it off.”

“Does he know about…”

“No. I figured that was a conversation you’d want to have with him yourself,” Tasha says, winking sly at him. “I hope you like Italian. I told him you were available tonight at 6:00, which, before you deny it, I know is true.”

Steve pales and looks at his watch desperately. “Tasha, that’s in an hour and a half! My nice shirt needs to be washed.”

She smirks knowingly. “The longer I gave you to think about it the more you would work yourself up. I got you some cute clothes, they’re on your bed.” Steve opens his mouth to protest and Tasha shushes him instantly. “Happy will be here in an hour to pick you up.”

Steve feels miserable. He doesn’t know this person at all, and now he’s going on a date with him with an hour's notice. He knows Tasha is right, that he would get anxious and try to come up with a battle plan and then flounder when it didn’t go right. But it’s one thing for her to be right, and another thing entirely to have to emotionally prepare himself in an hour.

He takes longer in the shower than usual, trying to wash the tension out of his muscles, but dresses quickly.

The clothes Tasha got for him are… nice. They’re really nice. Tightly fitted grey slacks that show off his legs, a dark blue button down, polished leather shoes, and a matching brown belt.

He has clothes, for sure, but none of them are as nice as this. When he’s not in his uniform - and the rest of the team is always teasing him for walking around in his uniform - he usually wears t-shirts and khakis.

When he goes back to the lounge part of the tower, Tasha is sitting on their couch and looking at him expectantly. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open into a small o.

“Do I look okay? Is there a problem?” Steve tries not to sound desperate, but Tasha’s face is concerning.

Tasha shakes her head and smiles at him. “No, no, you look - you look really good. You’re gonna knock him off his feet, Cap.”

Steve feels a rush of relief. “Okay, good. I don’t have anything else to wear, so if this doesn’t work I’m screwed.”

Tasha laughs. “Please, I’m sure you could wear rags and make it look good.” She gets up off the couch and hugs him awkwardly. “Let me know how it goes when you get back, okay? Remember, you’re just trying it out, seeing how it goes.”

Steve nods, pulls back, and does his best to smile.

* * *

Pete meets him at the restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall that Tasha apparently suggested, and smiles nervously.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve says.

So maybe they’re both a little nervous. Steve hasn’t gone on a first date since… Rachel? It’s been a while. Most of his relationships are borne out of his superhero work - he’s never had to get to know someone like this.

It’s intimate and vulnerable in a way that Steve hates.

Pete leads him inside and gets them a table. He pulls out Pete’s chair for him, and the other man raises a bemused eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes quickly, “just thought I’d…”

“No, it’s sweet. Thank you,” Pete says quickly, and Steve feels a rush of relief.

Steve sits down across from Pete. The restaurant is dimly lit, the main source of light on their table a single tea candle. Pete has to lean close to the menu to read it, though Steve can see just fine. He leans close anyway, so Pete doesn’t feel bad.

“What are you thinking of getting?” Steve asks, trying to find some kind of conversation.

“Oh, I’m not very adventurous. Maybe spaghetti and meatballs? Do you think they have that here?”

Steve knows for sure that they won’t. He remembers Tasha telling him about this, Italian meatballs are called polpettes and they’re an antipasto.

He doesn’t want to be rude, though. He desperately searches through the menu, trying to find something that might put Pete at ease. “Maybe the pasta all’Amatriciana?”

Pete quirks an eyebrow. He is pretty good looking, Steve has to admit, but this is just making him wish Tasha were here with him instead.

He knows what she would order: gnocchi al pomodoro or maybe pasta e cece, something rustic that reminds her of her mother. He would order the risotto, they would share antipasto, probably a radicchio salad, and speak only in Italian to the waiters. Tasha would probably try to get him to pretend to be an Italian tourist with her.

But he’s here with Pete, and he really should focus on trying this out. “It’s a tomato sauce. There aren’t any meatballs, but we could get an antipasto?”

“I am totally lost, but I’m going to put my faith in you. You lead the way,” Pete says, closing his menu, and Steve can see pretty well in the dark but he’s not sure what the man is feeling.

Steve quickly flags down a waiter and orders in Italian. When he turns back to Pete, his expression is less pained and more intrigued.

“Where did you learn Italian? You study abroad there?” Pete asks.

“Uh, well, something like that,” Steve says, thinking about the months he spent with the Invaders in Italy. “I was stationed there, in the army.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Pete says, his face lighting up. “I didn’t know you were a soldier.”

Steve laughs weakly. “Yeah, it was a while ago. I’ve been in civilian life for a few good years now.”

“That’s totally fair. My older brother was in the army, stationed in Afghanistan,” Pete says, and Steve thinks to Tasha’s capture by the Ten Rings.

“Did he make it out okay?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine,” Pete says, waving a hand. “He and his wife are expecting, actually.”

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing. Are you looking forward to being an uncle?”

“I guess? I haven’t really thought about it, she’s only a few months into the pregnancy. I’m not very good with kids, to be honest.” Pete laughs a little self-consciously.

Steve loves kids, but he knows not everyone is a fan. He wonders if Tasha is good with kids. He could see her being too distant, too distracted, or easily bored by them. But he could also see her dazzling them, caring for them, or listening to them.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” Pete asks, face open and curious.

“Well, uh,” Steve says, realizing how hard it is to talk about himself. He doesn’t - didn’t have any siblings, before the war, but should he say he did? Or, do the Avengers count as siblings? They are more like kids, Steve thinks ruefully. “No, no siblings.”

Pete seems to sense that this is awkward for him, but he doesn’t push. “So, what do you do?”

Steve pauses again. It’s so much easier to talk about Pete, listen and ask questions when relevant, than to try to explain himself. He hates feeling like he’s deceiving someone. “I’m an artist. Uh, mostly freelance; graphic design and comics. You know.”

“That’s so cool! What kind of projects are you working on?”

Oh, fuck. Steve didn’t think this far ahead. This is exactly why Tasha shouldn’t have rushed him to a date unprepared. “I’ve been working on some Avengers stuff? Advertisements, mostly.” That was true, he was doing drawings for the subway campaign that Tasha had set up.

Pete grins excitedly. “No wonder you picked out my outfit. Are you a fan?”

“Uh, well, not - I mean I guess so? I’m not obsessive or anything, but,” Steve says, really unsure how to play this.

“Who is your favorite Avenger? Mine’s Cap, obviously.”

“Iron Woman, for sure,” Steve says instantly.

“Really? Iron Woman? I would have pegged you for a Power Man kinda guy with those muscles.”

Steve shrugs. “The suit is amazing. I mean - as an artist, it’s one of my favorite things to draw. And I always thought Iron Woman was really cool, the way she fights with a suit. She’s just a normal person, you know? She doesn’t have any special powers, like Cap,” Lord, it’s weird to say his own nickname like that, “or Spider-Man do, but she risks her life anyway.”

“I guess I hadn’t considered that,” Pete says.

Their food arrives and they dig in.

When Steve steers the conversation towards hobbies and pop culture, and away from potentially incriminating personal details, it’s much easier. Pete is a nice fella, he thinks.

Steve gives him a ride home on his motorcycle, and Pete offers for Steve to come up for coffee.

Pete’s place is nice. It’s got nothing on the tower, or the old mansion on 5th street, but it’s much better than the apartment Steve was staying in before the breakout on the Raft. It’s spacious and tastefully decorated, a full kitchen and living room in addition to a bedroom. If Steve hadn’t lived with Tasha for so long, he would be gaping. As it is, he is impressed.

Pete doesn’t even pretend like he was thinking about coffee, not that Steve is complaining. As soon as they get in, he pushes Steve back against the door, kissing him senseless.

Pete’s mouth on his is hot and demanding, which isn’t terrible, and Steve gives as good as he gets. He pushes his hands up under Pete’s shirt, feels the warmth of his skin and explores idly.

It’s. It’s not that Pete isn’t good. It’s not that Steve isn’t into him, or what they’re doing. But his thoughts keep returning to Tasha, thinking about her pushing him up against a wall, what she would kiss him like.

Would she let him touch her like this? Explore her skin? Let him feel the scars and scrapes on her body? He wants to so very badly.

Pete kisses Steve’s jaw and begins to mouth at his neck, and Steve feels so uncomfortable with this. Sex is the one part of being with a man that Steve does feel confident about, but here he is thinking about his best friend instead. It’s pathetic.

Pete pulls back, looking up to Steve’s face with concern. “Are you okay? Are we going too fast?”

“No, no, it’s. I think maybe this was a mistake?” Steve says, his voice rising on the last word, suddenly afraid of Pete’s reaction.

“What was a mistake?” Pete says, his voice flat.

“I just… you’re a really great guy, Pete, don’t get me wrong,” Steve begins.

“Oh. I get it. It’s that girl, the one you were with at pride, right?”

Steve feels a rush of relief that maybe Pete understands, and nods silently.

“So, what. She set us up on a date and you didn’t want to disappoint her?” Pete asks, his voice oddly cold. “You want to impress her by going out with a guy? Make yourself more exotic?” His voice is full of venom.

“No!” Steve says, voice pained. “That’s not -“

“So I’m just some kind of experiment for you? You want to lead me on, get me to talk about myself to you, make me think you like me -“

“- I do like you -“

“But now that you’re here and I’m kissing you, you’re getting cold feet? Shut up, Steve.”

“- I -“

“I said shut up. It’s fine, I’m just a thing for you to play with so you can impress a girl. I see how it is. Straight guys are the worst, I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.”

“- I’m not -“

Pete ignores him and opens the door Steve is leaning against. “Get out.”

Steve feels sick. He leans against his bike and breathes harshly, the cool night air stinging his lungs.

He rides back to the tower for what feels like hours, telling himself the pressure on his eyes must be the wind and not his welling tears.

When he gets back, Tasha is waiting for him. She takes one look at his face and rushes to his side. “Steve, oh my god, are you okay?”

He should tell her it was fine. He should tell her he didn’t want to talk about it. He should ignore her and trudge over to his room, lay down on his bed, and fall asleep. He should do so many things.

Instead, he leans pathetically into her touch, looks away so she can’t see his face as he struggles to speak. “It - it - uh, it didn’t go so well,” he manages to choke out.

Tasha guides him to their couch gently, sits him down and rubs slow circles on his shoulder with her hand. “Hey, hey, you’re okay now, you’re safe now. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

No, he thinks. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Or maybe, I’m sorry Tasha, but not tonight. Or, it’s okay. I can handle it.

Instead he nods.

“Take your time. There’s no rush, I’ll be here.” Tasha’s never been this gentle with him before. It feels nice.

“I - uh - well, the, uh, dinner was. It was fine. It was good, even. He was completely clueless about Italian food,” Steve manages a shuddering laugh, “so the restaurant wasn’t the best pick, but it was okay.”

Tasha nods, not pushing him, just sitting there with her hand on his shoulder. An anchor for him.

“And then, uh,” he tries to continue. It feels like his throat closes up around the words. His stomach twists around like it’s full of snakes.

It feels like an age before he can continue.

“We went back to his place.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I wasn’t… I didn’t… it didn’t feel right. I kept thinking about someone else. He knew I wasn’t in it. He… he said I was,” his voice cracks, “he said I was using him. To make - to make myself more attractive to a girl. He said I was experimenting with him.”

He knows his voice sounds wretched. He knows there is a distinct wetness on his cheeks. He looks at the floor so Tasha doesn’t have to see him like this.

“He said I was straight.”

And then he’s full body sobbing. It shouldn’t matter this much to him, he shouldn’t be crying over it, it’s just some stranger being an asshole. But he feels every carefully placed hope crack and crumble in his chest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tasha says, her voice soft, her hand still gently soothing his shoulder. “That must have really hurt.”

Steve nods, his mouth open and twisted, every muscle in his body contracting.

“It can feel really vulnerable just after you come out. Like you have to prove something to people. Every blow against you feels like it’s a blow against the identity that you’re trying to validate. I know that’s how it was for me.”

Steve breathes deeply, trying to will his body away from snapping in two, trying to focus on Tasha’s words.

“But if you and he didn’t hit it off - for whatever reason - that’s got nothing to do with your identity. I can’t tell you the number of women I’ve tried dating and ended up not getting along with. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but that doesn’t make you any less attracted to men, does it?”

Steve’s breaths are more even, but his gaze is still pointedly fixed on the ground. “What if he was right?” Steve asks. “I was thinking about a girl. What if I was just using him, and none of it was real?”

Tasha pauses, though her hand is still a comforting presence on his shoulder. “Let’s do a thought experiment.”

Steve laughs weakly. “Okay?”

“Let’s say you’ve got a crush on Jess - not that you do, necessarily. You try to get your mind off of Jess by dating Carol. If you and Carol don’t work out, because you’re too busy thinking about Jess, does that change your sexuality?”

“No…?” Steve says, unsure as to where this is going.

“Right. So let’s say instead that it’s Luke you have a crush on - actually that’s even better because he’s married and off limits - and you distract yourself by dating… Peter? No, that’s weird. Uh, Hercules.”

Steve nods. “If it doesn’t work out, that doesn’t change my sexuality.” He sees her point.

“So if you have feelings for a woman, and your date tonight didn’t work out, that doesn’t mean you aren’t attracted to men - just that there were extenuating circumstances. Right?”

Steve lets out a long breath through his nose. “Right.”

“Plus, I mean - it’s not like you and Namor didn’t get up to some stuff back in the day…” Tasha says, lowering her voice playfully.

Steve’s laugh is less pained. “Right, right.”

Tasha lets them sit in silence for a few minutes, still touching his shoulder.

“I… I’m sorry for pushing you into going on that date, Steve,” Tasha says, struggling for words. He knows how bad she is with apologies. “I should have waited for you to feel comfortable. I know that sometimes, when it’s about feelings, you tend to wait for other people to make a move. Not that that’s a bad thing!” She quickly clarifies.

“It’s just… sometimes when you wait for someone else to make their move, you can let good stuff pass you by. It sounds like it might have been too soon to go on a date like that, you might have been feeling vulnerable - that’s totally normal. I just don’t want you to miss out on good stuff. You deserve good stuff in your life.”

“It was you,” Steve blurts out. “Uh.” He wasn’t expecting to just say that.

Tasha is still gentle with him, so careful. “It was me?” she repeats slowly, not pushing or prodding.

“The woman I had feelings for. The reason it didn’t work out. I’ve uh. I’ve got feelings for you.”

Steve is grateful he is looking at the carpet, because he knows his face must be beet red.

Tasha’s hand stops moving on his shoulder for a moment. “Oh,” she says, softly, cutting Steve’s breath short in his chest.

“It’s okay,” he says, his face hot with shame. “If you don’t feel the same way, it’s fine.” He can’t believe he just made his best friend - his oldest friend - uncomfortable by oversharing. He puts his face in his hands.

Tasha’s hand leaves his shoulder for a gut wrenching second, but then she’s grabbing his hand and pulling it away from his face. Pulling him so he looks at her.

She’s smiling. She looks so beautiful when she smiles. But why is she smiling at him? Shouldn’t she be horrified? Or confused?

“I feel the same way, Steve. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

He feels stupid. What? What does that mean? She likes him? Does she like-like him, did she mishear him?

And then before his thoughts can overwhelm him, she’s leaning forward, her eyes carefully meeting his, looking for hesitation. “Can I kiss you?” She asks, and he nods immediately.

Her lips are soft on his. It’s so heady, the feeling of her mouth. He’s thought about this endlessly, he’s dreamed every possible way for this to go, but he didn’t predict the warm certainty that she wants this and she wants me that blooms in his chest.

He closes his eyes and leans into the kiss. Her hands are on the back of his neck, keeping him in place, and she takes the lead. She opens her mouth and he follows. She pokes her tongue forward and he lets her.

If he thought the other kisses were good, this is like fire. This is like every nerve in his body has clustered together, earnest and intent on the feeling of her tongue in his mouth, gently rubbing on his, softly exploring him.

He wonders what she’s like when she’s not being careful, when she’s rough, and he smiles against her mouth when he realizes he’ll have time to find out.

They have all the time in the world.

* * *

**7 years later…**

Steve and Tasha sit under the cool trees of Madison Square Park. Their clothes are understated and made the hot weather, barring the rings on their respective fingers. Their shoulders are touching and they bitch about corporate sponsors like they’re regulars. Which they are.

Their second favorite part of pride, besides seeing the bisexual section waving their flags (Tasha introduced Steve to her friends who marched when they first started dating; now they’re Steve’s friends too), is looking across a crowd of attractive strangers appreciatively.

“Him? Really?” Tasha asks, looking at the leather daddy Steve nodded to.

“Sure. He looks like he knows what he’s doing in bed, and,” Steve continues, smirking, “you know I love some leather.”

Tasha’s eyes widen appreciatively at the thought of his uniform pants. “You know, I don’t know if we’ve ever tried a harness. I should make you one, see if you like it.”

He hums in agreement. “What about you?” Steve asks, looking at the crowd and trying to think of who his wife would be interested in. Maybe the girl marching with a miniature pan flag that looks vaguely like Maria Hill? Or the person wearing a trans flag like a cape, their shoulder-length hair dyed purple.

When he looks back at her, she’s just looking back at him, a big goofy smile on her face. “I’ve already got the best guy here with me,” she says, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

Steve rolls his eyes and laughs. “Come on, shellhead, that’s not how the game works.”

She throws an arm around his shoulder, warm and heavy, and leans against him. “Maybe it is if I want it to be,” she says, and Steve hears the note of challenge in her voice.

“Well, I’ll have you know I’m happily married, so you’ll have to do a lot of work if you want to convince me to go to bed with you.”

She turns her head so she’s whispering in his ear and says in her lowest, sultriest voice, “oh, I plan to.”

Steve can feel it ripple down his body and straight to his dick. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and feels her smile against his cheek.

When they get back, she pins him against the wall, pushes a knee between his legs, and it feels like safety. She’s holding his hands above his head, mouthing at his neck, and it feels like contentment. She’s riding him, gorgeous and sweaty from the heat of summer, and it feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> The time skip being 7 years is intentionally so that I didn’t have to bump up against Incursion Angst or think about Hickmanvengers in 3490. That is for another time and another fic.


End file.
